Chapter 3
Una Hart sat in the Berkeley campus Political Science Building thumbing through a pile of lectures, notebooks, and useless memorabilia that littered Dr. Tarrington's corner office. Usually she wore a pair of faded khaki army pants and a work shirt, but now that Dr. Tarrington was back on campus she was back in costume in her tight-fitting calf-length skirt and frilly blouse. The skirt's waistband was too tight and the long-sleeved blouse made her feel as if she was wearing a straight jacket . . . to say nothing about the stylish platform shoes paining her ankles. But she'd sworn her loyalty to Jackson's cause, and if it meant dressing like a woman, she'd suffer through it until the deed was accomplished. But that didn't mean she had to wear a damned bra!
"Nice to be back in Berkeley," said Dr. Tarrington from his desk where he slipped his glasses down his aquiline nose and stared over the tortoise-shell rims at his sexy research assistant. "Something about the West Coast intrigues me. Say . . . " he started, pulling off his glasses and staring at Una who sat nibbling daintily on a ballpoint pen as if she might be playing with a man's cock. "Was there a riot down on Telegraph Avenue last night?"
Her sultry dark eyes had a faraway look in them when she lifted her head up from the files. "No, I don't think so. There hasn't been anything political happening in Berkeley since they shot up and burned out that bunch of kidnappers in L.A." Her long dark eyelashes fluttered over her cheekbones and, with the light shining from the back of him onto the sheer cotton of her lace-trimmed blouse, Edward could make out the puffy outline of her tawny nipples.
The professor dropped the subject, pushed his jutting erection down with the heel of his hand beneath the desk, slipped his glasses back on and struggled to concentrate on his South African History 101 course outline. After his humiliating wedding night fiasco, it had been a relief to leave the house and come here to the ivory towered mental security of his office which had been left vacated in his absence. And to see Una! Lord, why hadn't he married her?
He knew why. Something mysterious about her . . . a haughty aloofness, a surreptitious quality that made him feel obliged to apologize when accidentally he bumped into her or brushed elbows. Unlike most of the Berkeley intellectuals, she dressed like a woman . . . no overalls and work shirts for her! One hundred percent woman was she, with her curly baby blonde hair and round brown eyes. And she was brilliant. For the three years of his on-and-off visiting professorship, she'd served him well. Beauty and loyalty and brains-what more could he want in a research assistant?
Pushing his doubts and worries about Carrie to the deepest, darkest corner of his mind, the suave professor scratched down notes on a yellow legal pad, sneaking fervent glances over the rim of his bifocals at the ripe young mounds of Una's tight buttocks waggling in front of him as she alphabetized a stack of papers. When she pulled open the filing cabinet drawer, the light caught the profile of her nipples tenting out through the blouse she wore.
Carrie would never dress so audaciously . . . he mused. But then, he probably wouldn't have married if she had. Still, there was nothing wrong with taking a peek at what other women had to offer.
Subconsciously, the distraught professor had resigned himself to a cold marriage, separate bedrooms and psychiatric bills to figure out why Carrie was so petrified of that thing, as she called it, between his legs.
When the Carrillon Towers chimed noon, Una set aside her work, bade goodbye to the professor and sashayed out the door letting Edward get a healthy peek of her silken thigh that peered out from the slit that ran up the side of her 1930's gabardine skirt. The garment clung to her well-rounded body with the tenacity of wet jersey, so tight he could see the crevice between the half-moons of her succulent ass-cheeks. He made a mental note of asking her to discuss with him a proposed lecture series after work some evening.. .over a cool glass of wine...?